


Frustrated Inspiration

by SelenaTerna



Series: Prompt Fics [1]
Category: Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Chocolate which is not chocolate, Edible Inspiration, F/M, Humour, I have no excuses, Prompt Fic, Semi-Crack FIc, Sorry Not Sorry, This is lunacy, silliness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-09
Updated: 2017-05-10
Packaged: 2018-10-29 22:40:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10863564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SelenaTerna/pseuds/SelenaTerna
Summary: Rose and the Doctor try to find a missing prince, but Inspiration seems to get in the way.





	1. I Can't Believe It's Not Chocolate!

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Chocolatequeen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chocolatequeen/gifts).



> Hello lovely people! This fic is the first of my prompt fills for my Milestone Fic Giveaway (from a couple of months ago). Chocolatequeen prompted me with 'chocolate', and this is what happened. The silliness ran away with me, it's the only excuse I have. It's a LOT longer than I intended so I've decided this will also double as my Time Petals prompt fic for the week, for the ficlet prompt 'frustration'. There are actually two more chapters of about the same or shorter length, so if people like this one, I'll post them. :)
> 
> Nancy, I know this is probably not quite what you were expecting (and there's a wee bit more than there was supposed to be, ahem, sorry!) but I hope you enjoy it anyway! Thanks so much for all your support!

“It’s _what_?”

“Inspiration!” the tall, green guard assured her. 

Rose stared. “But it’s chocolate.”

“Ah, it certainly _looks_ like chocolate, it _smells_ like chocolate and even _tastes_ like chocolate, but I assure you, Dearest Lady of the Fluffy Very Shrunken Tunic, that it is indeed edible Inspiration, and it is my most humble honour to guard it.”

“Fluffy shrunken…oh, my jumper.” She waved her hand dismissively. “Right, never mind that- what’s in it, then? This inspiration?”

“Alas, that is a secret known only to the Inspirators Most High, the Guardians of Gabble, the Lords of the Lingo, the Counts of Creativity. It is made in secret on the first night of the month of Opening and distributed throughout the land in secret, O She Of the Fluffy Pink Quite Small Tunic ,Whose Fluffiness is Unsurpassed Through the Ages.” 

She sighed. “You been sniffin’ this stuff on the job, then?”

The stately green alien flushed, fidgeting with his neon-yellow toga. “Well, perhaps a little. But, consider, O She Whose Socks Glow With the Light of a Thousand Glow Worms-“ -And that was the _last_ time she was wearing the banana socks the Doctor had bought her in Palleria- “that my beloved is Bigglebutt the Beauteous, Daughter of the Great Pottlepuff the Paunchy himself! The competition is cutthroat- I must have a _little_ help if I am to retain her affection!”

 “Bigglebutt …the daughter of…Pottlepuff?” She asked faintly, momentarily distracted from her mission of trying to find the missing prince. She hoped the Doctor was having better luck, wherever he was- he’d vanished about an hour ago, to her annoyance. Although frankly, if this chocolate stuff made people as balmy as this guard, it was probably better that he stayed away. _Far_ away.

“Yes!” The alien shook his head vigorously. “Pottlepuff the Paunchy! A veritable Veteran of Verse, a Prince of Prose, a-”

“Yeah, alright, I get the picture,” she interrupted, not wanting to hear how many alliterations he could cram into a single sentence. They needed to find the prince before sunset or else the whole country would be thrown into chaos. “So how’s it work, then? Do people just take as much as they want and then start spouting poetry?”

“Oh, no, Dear Lady of Denim Most Durable! I assure you, it is not so! It does not solely inspire poetry- it also inspires art! Pretty Paintings! Sexy sculptures! Numerous Novels! Daring dance! And-”

“Yeah, OK,” she interrupted again, screaming a little on the inside. “That’s great, but how does it _work_? How do you give it out, what does it do?”

“Ah, a thousand pardons, O Loquacious Lady of the Lenient Lymph Glands.” OK, that was original. She’d give him that. “The citizens queue, as you see here before you-“ he gestured to the line in front of the pedestal that stretched back for miles- “and wait their turn. Upon reaching the Most Inspiring Urn of Serious Inspiration, they are each permitted a single drop of this most stimulating concoction. Its effect is almost immediate. It takes mere seconds for the inspiration to sprout forth!”

Rose nodded, beginning to form a very good idea what had driven the crown prince to take off the day before his coronation. “An’ this stuff, it’s not just here, is it? I mean, people can get it elsewhere, right?” 

“Precisely, O Happy Bearer of Regal Fluffy Garments! It is found in every town square, usually in front of the temple. And of course, the palace also keeps a supply, under strict lock and key, for use at only the most significant ceremonies.” 

“Right. An’ is it dangerous? Can it make people sick if they have too much, does it have side effects?”

“Not at all, O Lady of the Fantastically Frivolous Fruit-bowl Footwear!” he hastened to assure her. “They will, perhaps, experience most unexpected and, er, _concentrated_ bouts of inspiration but that is about all.”

“Right. And it takes how long to wear off?”

The guard scratched his chin. “It is difficult to say, O Asker of the Most Terribly Probing Questions. Typically, the inspiration lasts from the rising of the sun until its setting. However, if the inspirational urges are _suppressed,_ I am told it takes longer, although I have never seen such, for who would wish to suppress inspiration?”

Rose sighed, rubbing her forehead and thinking of a crown prince high on ‘inspirational chocolate’ God knows where. “Yeah. Who’d wanna do that?” Fixing a smile to her face, she thanked her informant.

“Not at all, O Ladylike One, Whose Ladylikeness Cannot be Doubted, except on the first day of the Month of Opening.”

“Yeah look, I get you’re bein’ polite an’ all, you don’t need to keep callin’ me….” she trailed off, frowning. “Wait, that’s the second time you mentioned this Month of Opening. What is it?”

‘The day when madness is reason, and folly is law.”

She shook her head in bafflement. “What?”

“He means April Fool’s Day,”[i] a voice announced from behind her.

A very _familiar_ voice.

“Doctor!” Rose spun round immediately. “Where’ve you been?”

“Oh, you know.” He waggles his eyebrows cheekily. “Tracking.”

“ _Tracking_?” She repeated, folding her arms and cocking an eyebrow. 

“Yep,” he grinned, emphasising the p as he always did. “Tracking a runaway royal, to be precise. Reckon I’ve found him, too.” 

“Yeah? Well, we’ve got more problems than just findin’ him! He’s  _inspired!_ “

* * *

 

[i] April (or Aprillis, in the original Latin) is thought to be derived from the latin verb _aperire_ , that is, to open. One theory is that this is because April was a very important month for farmers, what with seeds, and fruits and flowers ‘opening’ as it were. So I’ve borrowed that- hence ‘the month of opening- in a place that almost seems neo-classical in some ways. After all, who knows how names and months will travel across the universe and through the years?


	2. Oh No You Didn't!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Doctor acts like....the Doctor. And Rose gets frustrated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovelies! As requested on Tumblr (and here), here is the next chapter of this silly nothingness. It's entirely deranged. Warnings for references to illicit drugs (but no use or appearance of illicit drugs) and for gratuitous mentions of pop culture (especially the 80's/90's) and random classical works.
> 
> Tee-hee!
> 
> Hope you like!

 

“What?” He stared at her. “Now, how would you know that? I admit, the royal family did seem very artistically inclined, but…”

“ _No_ , Doctor, I think he’s eaten some of this Inspiration, stuff!” She waved her hand at the urn behind them. “’S like chocolate, and people eat it and it makes ‘em all, poetic and whatnot, and act all funny. I think it’s like some kind of alien LSD.”

“Really!” the Doctor strolled up the urn and peered inside, ignoring the outraged horde of people waiting behind him. “Let’s have a look then.” Taking a deep sniff, he concentrated for a moment, brow furrowed before relaxing. “No, it’s not a hallucinogen, thankfully. It’s a stimulant- a bit like caffeine, but dedicated to the creative process.” Seeing that she was looking at him blankly, he continued. “Basically, it fosters creative responses by targeting the right side of the brain, which is where the emotions are mainly focused, followed by the left side, presumably because that’s the side that controls speech and language and so on. It’s brilliant, really- it’s built on a very sophisticated understanding of the mind, and whole-brain creativity.” He snorted, slipping his hands into his pockets. “Much more sensible than that all that ‘right-brained creative person’ rubbish your time is so fond of.”

“Right.” She exhaled. “And this stuff is what the prince is on. So he’s probably doin’...creative stuff… right now.”

“S’pose so.” He rocked on his heels, grinning sheepishly. “Makes sense of the report I got of him dancing round a tree at sunrise this morning, now I think of it.”

She rolled her eyes. “Great. Just great.”

“Oi, now, don’t you go raining on his parade, Rose Tyler!” He pointed an accusing finger at her. “He’s just expressing himself artistically.” 

“Yeah, an’ that’s great, except for the fact that if we don’t get him back in time for the coronation by sunset, there’s going to be a civil war, remember? Parents who think some other noble family stole him? Armies?”

“Oh, yeah.” The Doctor grimaced, running a hand through his hair. “That.”

“Right,” she sighed. “ _That_. So why don’t we go and rescue the wannabe Baryshnikov an’ he can do Swan Lake as much as he likes _after_ he’s crowned.”

“Yeah, good idea.” He nodded approvingly. “Any idea how long this stuff lasts? It might have worn off by now.”

Rose shrugged. “That guard over there said it depends, but usually single drop lasts from ‘sunrise to sunset.’ So I guess it depends how much he ate.” 

“Hmmmm.” He slipped a hand into his jacket and pulled out his glasses, slipping them on to peer interestedly at the substance inside the urn. “Ingenious substance, really, and it wouldn’t even be banned in the Intergalatic Expression of Creative Fabulousness asit uses the person’s own brain and knowledge, nothing more.” He sniffed. “Smells good.”

Seeing his hand reaching out, Rose dashed over, desperate to stop him. “Doctor, don’t you dare!” Unfortunately, she was too late, and the Doctor had stuck his entire hand inside the urn before she could get to him (ignoring the ladle and cup that were provided for hygiene reasons, she noted exasperatedly) and eaten a handful of Inspiration.

“Mmmmm, tasty!” He licked at his fingers and smacked his lips. “Deliciously decadent.”

“Oh, _no_ ,” she groaned. “It’s started already.”

The Doctor looked offended. “I’ll have you know, Rose Tyler, that that alliteration was unaided and er, _uninspired_.”

“You mean it’s not working?” Rose asked hopefully. The last thing she needed was his enormous Time Lord brain (especially _this_ version of him, who could literally talk people to sleep) spouting off poetry for hours on end when they were supposed to be rescuing a prince.

“Oh, no, it’s working.” He smacked his lips again, then ran his tongue over his lower lip to catch a stray fleck of Inspiration he’d missed. 

Rose determinedly ignored the butterflies that caused in her stomach.

Slipping his hands into his coat pockets, he grinned; that hopeless, boyish grin that got her every time. “My body just doesn’t react as quickly to chemical stimulants. Superior physiology and all that.” 

She sighed. This was a lost cause, then, and she’d have to be the one to get the prince back to the palace. “So any minute now you’ll be spouting sonnets or something.’”

“Might not!” he grinned cheekily. “Could be anything, really- it draws on the knowledge in the person’s mind, after all, and there’s a _lot_ in my mind, Rose.” He waggled his eyebrows. “It’s a funny thing when inspiration strikes.”

Rose held her breath, waiting. 

“Yep. In-spi-ra-tion,” he said enunciated slowly, trying to break up the silence. When that didn’t work, he frowned. “Rose is everything alright?”

She huffed. “We have four hours to find and bring back the prince -who may or may not be doin’ a rain dance somewhere in the forest- to avoid a civil war, and you’re goin’ to be spoutin’ Keats for the rest of the dsy! Yeah, I’m great, thanks!” 

“Oh, Rose, don’t be like that.” He blinked owlishly at her. “You know I-” he stopped midsentence.

Rose groaned again. It was starting.

The Doctor stood there, staring at her for what seemed to be ages before he suddenly jolted into action, an enormous grin on his face. “Hey good lookin’, what’s cookin’?”

“What, _seriously_?” She stared at him. “Nine hundred year old Time Lord with the biggest gob in two solar systems and _that’s_ what you come up with when you’re inspired?” 

He blinked. “What, too casual? Alright, Lovely Lady Whose Longs Locks I’d Love to Lovingly…Ladle. You want classic? You’ve got it.”

“Doctor, we have to-“

“Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?” He waggled his eyebrows. “Thou art more lovely and more temperate.” He frowned. “Especially if it’s a wet summer’s day on the moors. Actually, that’s a rubbish comparison.”

“Right.” She rolled her eyes. “Well, how about you think about it while we go and find the prince?”

“Ah, yes, the prince! We must catch the pretty, pampered prince as he prances perniciously and return him to his parents!” He looked ridiculously pleased with himself. “ _Allons-y, mon ami!”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! As always, feel free to contact me on countessselena.tumblr.com.


	3. That'll Teach You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They find the prince and Rose teaches the Doctor a Very Important Lesson, with the TARDIS' help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here is the last bit of lunacy. It's nuts and silly, but....Jack! Jack's in it! That's something, right?
> 
> I hope you've enjoyed this journey of madness as much as I've enjoyed driving this bus! Hang on tight!

Rose sighed and waved at a vacant horse and chariot, who galloped over immediately. “You free, mate?”

“But of course, My Lady. Ah, and I see your Lord is Inspired!” The driver beamed. 

“Isn’t he just,” she muttered, prodding the Doctor (who for some unknown reason, had started singing ‘Consider Yourself One of Us) into the chariot. “Right, Doctor, where are we going?”

“Where do you go?” He crooned, switching songs without a hitch. “My lovely. Where do you go? I wanna knooooow! My lovely.”

“Doctor!” She poked him. Hard. “Snap out of it for a minute! Where’s the prince?”

She saw him squint, trying to focus through the countless songs and poems and cheesy alliterations doubtless running through his head. “Eastern edge of the Forest of Gloomy Looking Trees Which Are Actually Not Very Gloomy At All.”

She shook her head. Was _everything_ on this planet mental? 

“Right away, my Lord!” With a quick word to the horses (Rose was glad to see they did NOT use whips on this planet) they were off.

Twenty minutes, four poems and three different renditions of ‘Wind in My Hair’ later, they had arrived at the eastern edge of the forest.

Rose paid off the driver and asked him to wait for them. She hopped down from the chariot, turning just in time to catch the Doctor pirouette gracefully to the ground. 

 _Show off_.

“Right, let’s find him and get out of here, Doctor.” She frowned. “Maybe you’d better stick with me- don’t think it’s a good idea to split up just now.”

The Doctor grinned. “Go on; I'll follow thee.”

“Shakespeare?” She guessed.

“Right you are, Rose Tyler! You’re getting too good at this, I need to start being more original.”

“No, honestly, let’s just-“

“You’re just so sweet, my Rose, my dear, your voice is pure music, to mine ear!” He grinned proudly. 

“Right,” she sighed. “Yeah, ‘s great. Look, we should find this lost prince, we only have-”

“Not all those who wander are lost.”

“Doctor, _please_!” She begged, her nerves beginning to fray, slightly. “I know it’s hard but you have to try an’ keep it in until we get him back! Just for a little while! OK?”

“OK.” The strain of keeping it in was visible on his face, and she couldn’t help the burst of warmth in her chest at the thought that he’d even fight chemically induced reactions if she asked him to. 

She grabbed his hand and laced their fingers together, smiling up at him. “Thanks.”

“Anything for you, My Ravishingly Revolutionary Rose Tyler.”

She was still going to kill him for this though.

They set off, and thankfully, they didn’t have to look for very long, for a mere ten feet away, there was a young man in royal robes dancing what looked to be an odd version of the Chicken Dance. 

Rose approached him tentatively, a strangely quiet Doctor stepping beside her. “Um, your Highness?”

He didn’t answer and continued flapping his arms and jumping about.

“Prince Sniffthebum?” 

Still nothing.

“Let me try,” the Doctor murmured. Stepping into the clearing, he began dancing what looked like a supremely awkward jig whilst singing ‘We Are Family.’

It seemed to have the desired effect as the Prince paused in the middle of his dance, one leg in mid-air and watched the Doctor, his head cocked to one side. Moments later, he continued his dance, ignoring the hopping Time Lord.

Rose sighed. “Right, I’ve had just about enough of this. “Oi, you! Prince Bumsniffer!”

“Sniffthebum!” the Doctor corrected, even as he transitioned into the Highland Fling.

“Whatever. You reckon your dance is better than his? I dare you to prove it!”

“I beg your pardon?” The prince blinked.

“You heard me! You think you’re so inspired? Prove it! In front of the whole court! Come to the Palace and let your mum decide!”

“But why should I do that? I am perfectly content here, expressing my artistic supremacy.”

Biting back her irritation at the bratty prince, Rose shrugged and examined her nails. “Whatever. ‘S your business. Guess that just means you’re not as ‘inspired’ as you think you are.” She shook her head. “Your poor parents. I mean, your dad is steppin’ down today and an’ all and you can’t even give him this? Such a shame. But don’t worry, I’m sure they’ll get over it. Eventually.”

The prince’s eyes narrowed. “How dare you imply I am anything less than inspired! I consumed no less then TWO drops of Inspiration.”

Waving her hand dismissively, Rose turned to the Doctor. “Yeah, whatever you say, mate.”

The Prince squawked indignantly. “Well, that’s it! I shall _prove_ it to you and settle this once and for all!” 

He marched through the trees towards the road, the Doctor and Rose close behind, and saw the chariot. “This is your conveyance?”

“Yep,” Rose grinned, winking at the Doctor as moonwalked his way closer to the chariot. 

“Excellent.” As soon as they’d boarded the chariot, the driver (recognising the Prince) took off for the Palace immediately.

The Prince decided that they needed to pass the time by reciting poetry.

Partway through the Rime of the Ancient Mariner (she never wanted to hear the word Albatross ever again) they arrived at the Palace, and the Prince was handed over to the very relieved custody of his parents. After many ‘we thank you mos heartily’s and ‘we are most deeply indebted to you’s (and biting of lips to suppress any creative inclinations on the Doctor’s part), they managed to escape and get back to the TARDIS without any further trouble.

Even if the Doctor did hum the triumphal march from Aida as they made their way in.

As the Doctor sent them into the Vortex, Rose sighed with relief. “Thank God that’s all over.”

The Doctor grinned. “Is it though?” He immediately followed that with a rousing rendition of ‘We are the Champions." 

Rose sighed. “Right, you suppressed it, an’ that makes it worse.”

“What, sick of my singing already, Rose? Do you really want to hurt me?”

“Don’t you dare!” She pointed her finger at him accusingly. “Don’t even go there. NO Culture Club!”

He pouted. “Fine, be that way. Humph. With the rhymes, I’ll play!”

She rolled her eyes, and then suddenly grinned as an idea came to her. It really would be the perfect pay back for an alien who couldn’t keep his fingers out of everything they came across. Beside, this really was too good not to share. “You know what, Doctor…I might just change my clothes and then we can go off on another adventure, ‘ey? What d’you think? My choice of location?”

He beamed. “My pleasure it’ll _be_ to honour _thee_ for you did so _well_ and of this I’ll _tell_!” He fluffed up his hair and began to croon. “Did you ever know that you’re my heeeerrooo….”

She couldn’t help a huff of laughter as she made her way to her room. Mariah Carey really had _nothing_ on this Time Lord.

Ten minutes later, she’d set the co-ordinates for a very special somewhere and the Doctor darted and twirled (literally) about the console, tugging at levers and quoting Hamlet’s most famous soliloquy.

Rose heard a distressed chiming in her mind and thought that maybe she wasn’t the only one who couldn’t handle a hyperactive, poetry spouting, feather be-decked Time Lord dancing the can-can. (Honestly, that was something she absolutely did not want to see ever again). They certainly landed a lot more bumpily than usual (and _that_ was saying something!) and somehow, the Doctor managed to keep his feather boa on.

 His bright pink feather boa.

(Rose made a note to ask the TARDIS later where he’d gotten a pink feather boa- it sounded like a part of the wardrobe she should investigate.)

“Where are we now, Rose?” He bounced to his feet and tugged her up alongside him. “Whither wilt thou lead me? Speak, or I’ll go no further!”

She smiled and tugged him towards the door. “Well you’re feeling all musical, an’ I reckon we need a few more to have a proper performance with an _audience_ , ‘ey Doctor?”

The door opened and a familiar voice came from outside. “Rosie! Doc! What are you doing back here so soon? Two visits in a week? Is the world ending? _Again_?”

“Oh no, you did _not_ ,” the Doctor gaped at her, looking betrayed. “I see it now- it’s a _plot_!”

Rose grinned evilly. “Maybe _that’ll_ teach you to keep your fingers out of what doesn’t belong to you next time we're on another planet, Doctor.” Turning away, she sauntered out the door.

“Hiya, Jack!”

“Rosie, what’s….” the former Time Agent trailed off, and whistled at the Doctor. “Well, hell-ooooo Doc! I had no idea you went in for this kind of thing.” He fingered the feather boa around the very red Time Lord’s neck.

The Doctor bit his lip, obviously trying to keep in whatever random lyrics were trying to burst out.

Rose wasn’t having any of that. “Doctor, aren’t you going to say hello to Jack?”

Still nothing.

So Rose started humming ‘Billie Jean.”

Seconds later, the Doctor glared at her. “You’re cruel, you are, and this time, Rose Tyler, you’ve gone too far!”

Then, unable to help himself, he spun on the spot, moonwalked to Jack, and launched into “I’m Bad.” 

“I’ll say!” Jack choked. “Who knew he had all _that_ hiding under those layers?”

Rose smirked. “Have fun boys.” And darted back into the TARDIS.

There was a chiming laughter echoing in her head as she slammed the door shut behind her and she doubted the TARDIS would be letting the Doctor back in any time soon.

In the meantime, she’d earned a relaxing bath.

+++++++

The next morning, she padded her way out of the TARDIS and into Jack’s flat, amazed to hear voices coming from the living room.

Were they still going? How much of that stuff had the Doctor _eaten_? 

Turning a corner, she was just in time to hear Jack say (unsurprisingly, souding completely sloshed), “Come on, Doc, one more for the road! Well, for the interstellar highway. Give me old-fashioned romance, give me _feeling_ , give me LOVE!” 

Rose held her breath, waiting.

Then, very softly, softer than it had been for days, the Doctor’s voice emerged, singing a very familiar melody.

“Some say love, it is a river….” 

She couldn’t help but smile; he’d chosen The Rose.

He was still doing the dishes for the foreseeable future, though.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading! As always, if you have any questions or comments, feel free to contact me on countessselena.tumblr.com.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! If you have any questions or comments, feel free to contact me on countessselena.tumblr.com.


End file.
